White Horse upon Green Pt: 2
by A.E. Hall
Summary: This is the second part of a threepart series about the life of Éomer the third marshal of the Mark and future king of Rohan. This part will cover the time period of TT and ROTK. Please read the first part of this story before reading this. ON TEMP HIATUS
1. Renewal

Part 2. White Horse upon Green

Chapter 1.

The sun had already risen when Éomer woke. The beams of light made a rectangle of brilliance on the dirty stones of the floor. He could feel the warm rays soak into his pale skin, urging the blood to flow. Éomer opened his eyes painfully; they had been shut with dried blood and grit. He stared at his hands which were covered in rivulets of dark, dried blood. It flaked off as he slowly squeezed them into fists and then released. His thick digits ached at the exercise. He continued the examination and saw his tunic was torn, and dirty. By lifting it up gently, he saw it covered a slowly blackening portion of bruised abdomen.

The rest of the day passed slowly and Éomer spent most of it staring out of the single barred window of the cell. All he could see were the tops of the buildings and the faces of people. Not one turned to meet his gaze. No food passed through the bars and his stomach felt the loss keenly as the sun began to set. He had been sitting against the rough stone wall for most of the day in a trance-like pose. A bright pinpoint of red light remained above the hills outside and then vanished, casting the whole country into darkness. The busy sounds of horses and people that had filled the city until dusk were replaced by the trickle of a fountain.

The jailor and three men entered the cell. By the looks on their faces and the jailor's yellow smile, Éomer could tell they were not here to release him. One man pulled Éomer up roughly and held back his arms. There was no strength to struggle as the following blows pounded his body. They quickly tired of the sport. It was not enjoyable to beat a body that did not give them sport. Éomer found himself face down on the ground, watching the dirt on the floor swirl in intricate patterns, disturbed by a cold wind from outside.

A rat darted across his feet as he struggled to sit up against the wall and keep the scene from spinning around him. His tongue scraped across wasted lips that tasted bitter from dry blood. Fresh blood flowed thick and warm from his nose replacing the dried blood he had just done away with. In an effort to stop the surge from his nose he pinched the bridge. He tried not to think about anything else but his immediate survival, but past regrets and nightmares made any chance of sleep slim. Cold wrapped around him until he was numb. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he told himself not to succumb to the comfortable unfeeling.

Around midnight, he found himself suddenly awake and listening to scuffling noises on the wall outside. In a few moments a silhouette filled the barred window and slender white hands gripped the bars tightly. Éowyn's quiet voice motivated him to stand and stumble towards the window. She was dressed in a dark cloak and her right hand held a small loaf of bread. Two blue orbs filled the shadow of her hood and pierced his own eyes.

"Sister, you should not have come, I am sure Grima's men will be watching for you," he said with a hoarse voice, trying not to betray his weakness.

"I care not what that worm does. He shall do nothing to harm me as long as I am the only heir to the throne, and his only chance to control the kingdom."

"You must leave Éowyn, run away, take Brynefot; he is quick and sure of foot. Flee to Gondor before I die. There is no way to save me now, save yourself."

"No brother, I will not run and forsake our people. The kingdom has already died, but on my wedding night Grima will die also. His blood and not mine shall stain the sheets of our bed," Éowyn said with a cold voice and a disturbing, unfeeling tone.

"Sister what wickedness or sorcery had done this to you? I care about your safety, not the kingdom. I cannot lose you as well. Please if you ever cared for me flee this place, it may be that you can find help for us in Gondor."

"Éomer," she said earnestly, "I do not fear death. It is better to die in honor for this country than to flee like a coward. I will do this for us brother and I shall meet you in the halls when the task is done," she said pulling away her hand and stepping back into the night.

"Éowyn!" Éomer shouted at her, but there was no answer. A cold biting wind slapped him across the face. He slid along the wall and collapsed on the floor sobbing. Silence enveloped him as he bit the bread she had given him angrily and wiped his eyes with his tattered sleeve. The cold wind surrounded him and pierced him to the soul. To think Grima would not suspect such a thing. He would be prepared for Éowyn's ill-conceived attack and then the kingdom would belong wholly to him. King Grima Wormtongue of Rohan, a mockery to the throne he would sit in.

The next morning, Éomer woke late once again. The jailor and two of his men entered before noon and began to repeat their usual treatment. Before they could land a dozen solid blows they were stopped and dropped their prisoner to the ground. He could not hear the words that were exchanged between them and another man who had entered the cell. A few minutes later he felt himself being raised from the ground. Háma smiled grimly at him.

"I certainly cannot bring you before the king like this my lord. I suppose we will have to visit the bath house first," he said, helping Éomer up and leading him outside of the prison. "I had not realized it was the job of our jailor to torture the prisoners," the door warden said angrily. He helped the injured marshal out of the building and across the unoccupied path.

"Neither had I," replied Éomer roughly, "Perhaps it is a welcoming reserved for only the most honored guests," he paused, "It matters little what I look like the day of my execution. I look more than fit enough to come before our King."

Háma looked at him with an amused, knowing expression as he led him to the large basins in the bath house, "I will have to find you a new tunic as well," the door warden said to himself as he left Éomer to wash.

"Bring me my sword also!" Éomer shouted after him, his vocal chords discordant from the strain of yelling, "If I am to be killed today, then I would like to have my sword by my side. I would only lay it at my uncle's feet before I die."

He undressed and submerged himself completely in the large tub of water and cringed as he cleaned his head wound with a wet towel. He bound his hair behind him with a piece of rope to keep it out of his face and continued to wipe the blood off his face. The reflection in the water showed a swollen eye, a crooked nose and a gash along his forehead that would create a decent sized scar if allowed. He unbound and rinsed his hair of all the filthy residue and secured it in two braids, as was custom for Rohirrim men.

Háma reentered a few minutes later with a simple green tunic and Éomer's sword. The door warden spoke as the younger man gingerly dried his arms and face with a towel. "This day we have received four travelers, an elf, a man, a dwarf and Gandalf the wizard."

"Gandalf?" Éomer stopped short with surprise, "I was told he is dead. What trickery have these travelers brought from the elven mistress of the Golden wood?"

"It is Gandalf, though I do not know of what magic they bring, they have worked a considerable amount upon your uncle." Háma replied with a chuckle and then his tone became more serious, "He has summoned you to him and the court at Gandalf's bidding. Your uncle has risen from his seat and spoken to the travelers with the strength of his youth. He has been renewed," the door warden said with shining eyes.

It was too much for Éomer to believe. He dressed quickly ignoring the pain it brought him and grabbed his sword out of the man's hands roughly. He strapped it on as he walked out of the building. His legs shook beneath him, but he ignored the soreness that came with every step. A flower of hope sprang up within him. The doors to the Hall stood open and a fresh wind seemed to have blown away the evil of the place. He stopped short near the back and watched his uncle arise from the throne with a straight back and reach to his side where his sword had once been. He seemed puzzled that it did not hang there still and muttered to himself.

Éomer strode forward with a quickness of excitement and spoke, holding his sword forward, "Take this dear lord, it was ever at your service," as he reached the dais he knelt before Théoden and offered the hilt towards his uncle. Even if this was some foul witchcraft or yet another rendering of Grima's he would be glad to die at the hand of so noble a lord.

A voice that Éomer had not heard in many years issued from the king's mouth, "How comes this?" he said looking at the sword Éomer held out to him.

Háma had come up silently behind them and his voice trembled with fear and amazement at the change in his master's voice, "It is my doing lord, I understood that Éomer was to be set free. Such joy was in my heart that maybe I erred. Yet since he was free again and a Marshal of the Mark, I brought him his sword as he bade me."

Théoden looked at them both sternly and Éomer for the first time in many years spoke to the king with respect and not pity, "To lay at your feet, my lord."

They both remained still, frozen in that moment; both waiting for what would come next. Éomer shook within at the punishment that might lie before him, and the terror that his restored uncle would find some fault within him. He wanted only to assure the King that he was his servant and had always acted out of service to the lord and the country. The room seemed to draw a collective breath and ask: where had the old man sitting on the throne gone to?

"Will you not take the sword?" said Gandalf from the king's side.

Théoden took the hilt in his hand and lifted it into the air. Suddenly, he swung it round, the light glinting off its side as the air whistled at the movement. A deep, powerful voice reverberated through the hall. "Arise now, arise Riders of Théoden! Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward. Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded! Forth Eorlingas!"

The guards at the doors and the end of the hall sprang to the dais, thinking the call to arms real and laid down their swords in unison. "Command us!" they shouted.

Éomer nearly cried out in happiness, choked only by the weakness in his limbs. He saw his sister from where she was standing, near the three travelers, and then he smiled at Gandalf who was wearing white robes and seemed strangely changed.

"Westu Théoden hál," Éomer said weakly and then changed to the common tongue, "It is a joy to us to see you return into your own. Never again shall it be said, Gandalf, that you come only with grief!"

"Take back your sword Éomer, sister-son, Háma go and seek my own sword, Grima has it in his keeping," Éomer grimaced at the title that his uncle still used for him and wished once more to be called son.

But, even with the new light there would still be shadows and scars left on the country. He would not complain of such a thing on a day of such renewal. He felt Éowyn at his arm and she smiled at him while helping him to rise. The coldness had not completely gone from her countenance and Éomer felt the loss as a tangible wound. He knew that even the power of wizards could not rebuild what had once been, nor restore Théodred from the grave, nor heal every hurt. He looked up to hear Gandalf counseling his uncle.

"…Should be sent west at once as Éomer counseled you: we must first destroy the threat of Saruman, while we have time. If we fail, we fall. If we succeed then we will face the next task. Meanwhile your people that are left, the women and the children and the old, should fly to the refuges that you have in the mountains…"

Gandalf spoke to them for a time and it was decided that it would be best for the men to set out at once for the Fords of Isen to try and help Erkenbrand and his men to keep the river. The women, children and old would continue on to Helm's Deep. Théoden, for the first time in many years would mount his horse and lead the men in battle.

Háma had returned and two men who were holding Grima by each arm followed him. The door warden held out a blade in a long golden scabbard, "Here my lord is Herugrim your ancient blade, it was found in your advisor's chest. He was reluctant to open it. Many other things are in it that men have missed."

"You lie!" Grima shouted spit spewing from his mouth, "this sword was given to my keeping."

"Yes, and now I require it back from you again, does that displease you?" Théoden asked sternly.

"Assuredly not, lord. I care for you and yours as best I may. But do not weary yourself or tax too heavily your strength…" he said in his conniving tone.

Théoden rose and unsheathed his blade. He approached Grima his voice turning to a growl, "Your witchcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast. No, my dear advisor, I think your death would not tax too heavily on my strength," he said placing his blade at Grima's neck. "Your voice will not bewitch me again, nor will your subtle poisons. I will not live in the nightmare your words and potions subjected me to. Now you may choose, stay here and face my wrath, or leave with any horse that will carry you and join your master Saruman," the king finished lowering his weapon and motioning for the guards to release Grima.

The man's face became full with fury, and his eyes filled with malice. With a hissing breath he spit at the king's feet and ran out of the door before any could stop him. "Follow him, see that he does no harm to any, but do not harm or hinder him. Give him a horse if he wishes it," the king ordered as two soldiers sprung after Grima.

"And if any horse will bear him," Éomer said with a sardonic smile.

Théoden had followed the soldiers' path out into the sunlight on the terrace; he glanced at his niece and nephew standing side by side behind him. His smile disappeared in a moment and his eyes searched for someone he would not find.

"Where is Théodred? Where is my son?" he said looking towards Gandalf. The wizard lowered his gaze.

* * *

**Note:** Hey guys, well I hope you liked the beginning of this story; I have been working on it a lot and have been experiencing a lack of ideas for this coming segment. But that won't keep me from posting hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** I'm only going to put this here one time, I do not own LOTR in any entity (movie or book) and I do not own any characters, dates, locations etc. that are of the LOTR trilogy. I do own all original characters never mentioned in his books and the story line is my interpretation of the timeline of Éomer's life.

Also this segment of my three part story will be based both on the movies and books though mainly on the books. Some lines you find in this story will be shortened, condensed etc. versions of those in the books. Too many of the lines are from the book to make notation of all of them, but just know that I am not stealing Tolkien's work and I give him full credit for any lines that are from the book.

Also please do not put me in your archive or use my original characters/ideas without permission.


	2. Beauty of Sorrow

Chapter 2.

The body of Théodred had not been buried yet. The order had been caught up in the net of the bureaucracy of Grima's rule. Seeing his blueish-white skin and embalmed body seemed an emotional parting blow from the snake. The king turned his face away, eyes wet and shining with unshed tears, as the body was carried down to the mounds.

The people of the city were all dressed in black and the only sounds were the wailing of women. The glow of the sun on Théodred's armor caused an ethereal glow that made his face seem even paler. The fields around the city seemed still and quiet though a strong silent wind blew. Éowyn and the other women of the house stood in lines by the mound prepared for Théodred.

Éowyn's hands shook quietly and Éomer could see her lips quiver as they took their places on either side of the mound. Gandalf and the three visitors stood solemnly, sensing the severity of the emotions. Éomer felt very little of what his uncle and sister felt.

He had held his cousin's dirty body in the river where Théodred had died. His feelings towards the event were buried deep within the archives of his memory. The only feeling that penetrated was a hatred for the man who was responsible for this loss and the loss of so many others, and also guilt for having come too late to save his cousin.

Since the coming of Gandalf and the renewal of the King the conflicting feelings of regret and happiness forced him to leave the past. He needed to quit remembering, stop holding on to the pain that penetrated most memories and simply live for the present. They would need him now more than ever. He was shaken out of his thoughts as Éowyn began to sing a burial song.

"Bealocwealm hafath fréone frecan forth onsended

(An evil death has set forth the noble warrior)

_Giedd sculan singan gléomenn sorgiende_

(A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels)

_on Meduselde"_

(in Meduseld.)

Her voice continued as the pallbearers lowered Théodred's body and placed it inside the mound. The stone door was shut with a lonely thud. Théoden did not move and he stood silently, staring at the grave while the rest of the people excluding Gandalf, slowly returned to their homes.

* * *

The whole city was filled with the cries of heralds and war-horns. The king had returned with Gandalf and immediately issued his orders for all men to don shield and sword and to be ready to ride very soon. The guests and the house residents sat down to take what food they could in the king's haste. Many were still very weary, and uncertain of the practicality of plans conjured by a wizard. Had they not been betrayed by such a person and now at war with him. Many questioned why the King of Rohan was listening to Gandalf.

While they ate the king told them of his plan that had been advised by the wizard. The host would ride swiftly to the Fords to help Erkenbrand who was still defending the place where Théodred had fallen. Gandalf also told them much of Wormtongue that Éomer had already known. Grima had been the eyes and ears for Saruman in the kingdom watching for circumstances and preying upon weaknesses.

The king had come from the mounds with a determined face. He spoke with Gandalf as the valorous man that many remembered from long ago. "… Most of all I owe to you, my guest. Once again you have come in time. I will give you a gift ere I go, at your own choosing. You have only to name what it is. I reserve only my sword," the king said to Gandalf.

"I will accept your gift my lord. I will choose one that will fit my need: swift and sure. Give me Shadowfax! He was only lent before, if a loan we may call it. But now I will ride into great hazard, setting silver against black: I would not risk anything that is not my own. And already there is a bond of love between us."

Éomer laughed inwardly at the request. The wizard was keen of mind and tongue, and no man could say he did not speak his mind. Others sat in uneasy silence waiting for the response from their master. After only a moment of hesitation the king consented.

"You choose well, and I give him now gladly. Yet it is a great gift. There is none like Shadowfax. In him one of the mighty steeds of old has returned. None such shall return again. And to you my other guests I offer whatever you may need from our armory."

The meal was finished shortly thereafter and the guests left to be fitted in helms and coats of mail for the battle. The adrenaline of the coming battle filled Éomer and pushed away any other thoughts.

Éowyn followed her brother to his quarters where he gathered his armor, which had been taken from him before. His limbs were still sore and stiff from the nights spent in the prison. His sister helped him strap on the breastplate and tie the sword sheath at his waist. Both were remembering the first time Éomer had donned the battle gear and shed first blood. They did not talk but Éowyn reverently took their father's knife down from the shelf in his bedroom and removed it from the case.

"This is no time for our Father's knife to remain unstained. I would have used it on Grima, but now that I cannot, you must use it on other foes. This is the end of our age, and whether we fail or succeed I cannot imagine a worse fate than mine," Éowyn said wrapping her arms around him, though no warmth was in the embrace, "Embrace the chance to avenge our losses my brother, do not let them go free, or be rewarded for what they have done," she finished softly and left the room. Éomer sighed and hoped that he would not be the next death to send his sister further into the icy prison where she had confined herself.

The army was gathered outside. Many men including some of his own from Aldburg were mounted and ready to ride to the aid of Erkenbrand. Éomer watched silently as his sister passed the parting goblet from the king to himself and the travelers. She hailed the ranger and Éomer was troubled at the way she glanced at him. Her hand seemed to tremble as she passed the goblet to Aragorn.

Brynefot swayed beside him nervously, and the king stood straight and still waiting for the talking to cease. "Behold! I go forth, and it seems like to be my last riding, I have no child. My son is slain, so I name Éomer to be my heir. If neither of us return, then choose a new lord as you will," he said and then motioned for Éowyn to step forward, "In my stead you have asked that Éowyn lead you. Until our return I name her your lord. Now Éowyn please kneel."

Éowyn did as he said and knelt before him to receive a sword and corslet of mail from him. Éomer waited for her to look up at him but instead she glanced at Aragorn who was speaking in low tones to his companions. He frowned slightly; his sister had found her hero in a stranger from the North. Éomer knew that she no longer held any pride in the Rohirrim, nor in her uncle or brother. So she had found the replacement for such worship, and had chosen the heir to the throne of Gondor as her idol.

The streets were crowded as they left; the young marshal of the Mark glanced to the side of the road and saw women and children standing with tears in their eyes. They did not look into his eyes, but searched among the throng of soldiers for their own dear one. Éomer led Brynefot to the gates where many horses waited, including Shadowfax who bore Gandalf, who was no longer cloaked, but shining bright in his white robes. Legolas and Gimli who had been walking with the crowds walked to horses brought for them.

The dwarf and elf talked together and Éomer joined them as the dwarf was finishing, "And a dwarf is no horseman. It is orc-necks that I would hew, not shave the scalps of men."

"Are you to ride with Gandalf on Shadowfax master dwarf?" Éomer asked, speaking in the common tongue to them both. Both elf and dwarf seemed surprised and suspicious of his friendly manner.

"Yes, though I would rather walk then bump like a sack on Gandalf's saddlebow," the dwarf answered looking up and down over Éomer.

"Pardon me for my words on our first encounter, please ride with me, my horse Brynefot will bear us both, if you will," He said with genuine repentance.

The dwarf looked happy at his apology, "I thank you indeed, and I will gladly go with you if Legolas, my comrade, may ride beside us."

"Then it will be so," the young marshal said helping Gimli onto the horse behind him. It took some time for the men to be assembled and ready to ride but when they were formed they numbered more than a thousand. The travelers rode beside the king with Éomer, and they started off with a thundering of hooves that could be hear for many miles away.

Éomer turned back to see his sister on the terrace, glittering in the noonday sun, he turned his back to her and to the city as they continued on their journey.

They followed the path that led along the foothills of the White Mountains and far ahead as they went on the Misty Mountains loomed up. The sun went down slowly and still they were silent and riding. It was still forty leagues to the Fords and they halted to make camp and let the horses rest. The camp was quiet, many old men were there, some too old for service and many too young for their coming of age also road. This was the moment of need and those that could hold a sword had come.

The king ordered the scouts to ride back and forth around the camp and they set up a circle of guards around them, but they did not light any fires. The circle sat upon the plains as a silent, watchful force. Éomer felt the loss of the fires as the cold air bit into his exposed hands and face. Théoden had been talking with Gandalf for many hour and now he walked slowly towards Éomer.

He sat down nest to his nephew and let out a long sigh of uncertainty. The silence between the two seemed enough to communicate for many minutes. When Théoden turned to Éomer his eyes glinted with unshed tears and his voice was gruff.

"Théodred died on my account. He never should have been there fighting with that few of men and I could have stopped it from happening," he paused to take in a deep breath, "You were right to disobey my orders, you did right the whole time. I abandoned you and Éowyn in your time of need. Many memories have been coming back to me from the past years, as if out of a dream. I can ask you to forgive me but it will not change what happened, what I did to you. I should have realized long ago what a noble man you have become, I may have missed the moments when you showed this to the kingdom, but I am proud of you and proud to be able to call you my relation."

"Your son my lord, as it should have been."

"I lost that right a long time ago."

"I never took it from you, and I would be honored to call you father once again, though I have always done so in my heart," Éomer said sincerely.

Théoden nodded and rose, leaving Éomer to himself. He felt a strange emptiness in his gut for many hours afterwards. He felt as though he had lost something important, or missed out on a whole lifetime of memories that might have been. The surrounding darkness had taken it.

He came to resolution under the faint stars and waxing moon that night. He could not look back at the moments he had lost and he would not pity himself for the things that had never come to pass. Events would occur, and many he would not be able to stop, whatever happened in the future, whatever faced him in life's journey would not the change the person that he was.

In that moment the young marshal of the Mark had taken his final step into manhood.

* * *

**Note:** Hey everyone, I put two chapters up in this new part so that you guys would have some reading material in case I do not update immediately. Please go back one chapter if you are looking for the full, lengthy, boring disclaimer. I hope you all enjoyed this, please review and tell me what you think, constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms.

Also if you are wondering why I changed Éomer's horse's name, I didn't, Brynefot is just the version of Firefoot in Old English. Finally, I know Éowyn's character is a little weak right now but she is a tough character to portray at this moment in her life, I am also trying to portray how strange she seems to Éomer.


	3. Helm's Deep

Chapter 3.

The second day of riding proved for foreboding than the first. They had left at dawn and throughout the day the temperature rose and the plains sweltered in an unnatural stuffy heat. Throughout the afternoon large, dark clouds began to rise up over them, and a red light could be seen as they approached the river at nightfall.

Out of this glow came a lone rider, a scout that Éomer knew as Ceorl, who was under the command of Erkenbrand. The whole group stopped awaiting the news that he brought. As he approached they saw that his helmet was dirty and dented and his shield had been cloven in half. He dismounted and with gasping breaths spoke to the guards at the front of the line.

"Is Éomer here?" he asked breathlessly but did not wait for a reply, the whole army listened to his words, "You come at last, but too late, and with too little strength. Things have gone evilly since Théodred fell. We were driven back yesterday over the Isen with great loss; many perished at the crossing. Then at night fresh forces came over the river against our camp. All Isengard must be emptied; and Saruman has armed the wild hillmen and herdfolk of Dunland beyond the rivers, and these also he loosed upon us. We were overmastered. The shield-wall is broken. Erkenbrand of Westfold has drawn off those men he could gather towards his fastness in Helm's Deep. The rest are scattered," he stood for a moment, searching for the face of the third marshal of the Mark, "Where is Éomer? Tell him there is no hope ahead. He should return to Edoras before the wolves of Isengard come there."

As Ceorl finished the king rode out from behind his guards and faced the scout speaking with him. The scout was surprised at the king's presence and he knelt before him. The king ordered that a horse be given to the scout and after a few moments council with Gandalf, resolved to hurry to help Erkenbrand at Helm's Deep. Gandalf left the army and disappeared into the darkening night.

"Where is he going?" asked a soldier riding close to Éomer.

"He is going about his business, he goes and comes often when least expected and does not give explanation," Legolas answered in a soft voice still watching Shadowfax speed across the land with his elvish sight.

The company was hastened on by the news and they did not stop near nightfall but continued southward of their original course and on to Helm's Deep. Many scouts rode ahead of them and as they approached the looming fortress arrows began whizzing by them from forces of orcs that had been coming from the river to pursue Erkenbrand.

The news that the scouts brought back was disheartening. Small groups of Rohirrim wandered leaderless to the Westfold Vale and then found themselves retreating from a large company of orcs. The bodies of many men were scattered on the ground as they pressed on towards the entrance of the Hornburg. Of Erkenbrand and his men there was no news, they had not come to Helm's Deep.

Large, red fires leapt up behind them as the orcs and hillmen set fire to the homes and land of the Westfold Vale. Screams and shouts could be heard in the valley and Éomer wished to close his ears to the sound. He hurried to the front of the line, much to the protestations of Gimli and announced the coming of the king to the sentinels at the gate. It opened with a groan before them and the host rode up the steep path into the Hornburg.

The horses were quickly dismounted and taken to the deep parts of the hold; they would be of no more use unless the Rohirrim attained victory. Brynefot's legs shook as Éomer dismounted and helped Gimli off the horse. His coat had taken on a glossy sheen and Éomer was reluctant to leave him in the hands of the young boys assigned to take care of them. Gimli however was happy to be on his two feet again.

"Dwarves need to feel the rock underneath their legs, yes this is good rock," he said looking around in amazement, "Did the Rohirrim construct this fortress?"

"No, it is an old work of the sea-kings. It is not in our knowledge to make such a thing. It served Helm Hammerhand in a time of need and is thus called Helm's Deep by our folk though others call it the Hornburg."

Éomer was called to the king; Théoden and many of his men would remain deep within the Hornburg. Éomer would set his men along the Deeping wall and the tower of the wall. There were few fighting men among the group and many were too young or too old. The majority of Rohan's fighting men were with Erkenbrand and there had still been no news of his whereabouts.

Éomer remained on the wall, shouting orders to his men and giving instructions to Gamling, an old trusted soldier who had been Théoden's right arm in times past. They waited for many hours in the gloom, watching the small orange lights in the valley. The orcs had begun advancing, and a contingent of archers stationed in the Dike below began shooting at the lights. Éomer could her a few faint cries and then the retreat of the Rohirrim archers.

They entered the Deep and the captain reported to Gamling, "The enemy is at hand, we loosed every arrow that we had, and the Dike is filled with orcs. But it will not halt them for long. Already they are scaling the bank at many points, thick as marching ants. But we have taught them not to carry torches."

As he finished talking the whole army cried out as a blinding lightning bolt struck the mountainside. Pouring rain began falling from dark clouds above. As the lightning struck orc archers shot their bows at the revealed men upon the wall, a soldier fell screaming over the battlements. The whole valley before them seemed to be filled with swarming men and orcs. Éomer shouted orders to the archers who began firing at the host that was closing upon the walls.

Rain filled his mouth as he spoke and drenched his hair; Gamling shivered beside him and repeated the orders to the lieutenants. Messengers ran back and forth bringing news to the king who was stationed with the men waiting for an assault on the gate. The largest orcs and many of the Dunlending men were charging up the ramp holding shields above their heads to prevent being shot by the archers on the wall.

They reached the gates and swung forth two large trunks. Aragorn and Éomer both sprang down the stairs to the gate. There the king and his men were bracing the gate. Théoden had no need to tell Éomer to use the side door that led by narrow path to the outside of the great gate. A few good swordsmen had followed them and their gleaming swords swooped at once downward as they met the wild men outside the gate. The crashing of the ram ceased for a moment as they attacked the front group. The trees fell to the ground with a large thud that vibrated the stones under their feet.

"Gúthwinë! Gúthwinë for the Mark!" Éomer yelled with his full voice as the surprised men and orcs turned to face him.

"Andúril! Andúril for the Dúnedain!" Aragorn cried out beside him, unsheathing his own sword. It's light shone in the eyes of their foes.

Éomer brought his sword crashing against that of his enemy and hurled him behind himself and off the ramp. A wild man came charging at him with an unearthly howl, bringing his sword to graze off of Éomer's armored shoulder. Éomer's sword found the opening between the man's helmet and body armor and cleanly beheaded him.

The men and orcs around them had quickly dissipated, or lay dead at their feet. Some orc archers had shot wildly but then retreated as the rest of their kind had been killed. The men turned and returned into the Deep as Aragorn and Éomer stopped in front of the gates for a moment and looked at their condition.

"We did not come too soon," Aragorn said pointing at the bent hinges and bars of the gates and their cracked timbers.

"Yet we cannot stay here beyond the walls to defend them," Éomer said looking over the field behind them and pointing as arrows began to clatter on the stones near them, "Come! We must see what we can do to pile stone and beam across the gates within," Éomer said as they both headed back toward the gate.

Suddenly, he felt two orcs grab him from behind and pull him down to his knees with great force. Éomer could see Aragorn turn back slowly in an almost dream like state and begin to run towards him. Blows hit against his back and for a brief moment he came face to face with death. The heavy weight holding him down was lifted and Éomer heard Gimli cry out in a tongue that Éomer did not know. Two heads fell to the ground and Éomer stood up with the dwarf's help.

They did not speak because they saw more orcs coming up the ramp behind them. Once the door was closed and barred Éomer turned to Gimli with a breathless voice, "I thank you Gimli son of Glóin. I did not know that you were with us, but often the unbidden guest proves the best company. How did you come there?"

The dwarf's face was filled with a wry smile, "I followed you to shake off sleep, but I saw that the hillmen were too large for me so I sat beside a stone to see your sword-play."

"I shall not find it easy to repay you," Éomer said with a chuckle as they returned to the wall.

"There may be many a chance before the night is over. But I am content. Till now I have hewn nothing but wood since I left Moria," Gimli said as he took his place beside Legolas.

Many men still remained down near the gates waiting for the enemy to finally break the wood and enter the Deep. The early morning brought little hope and a reminder of the soldier's great weariness. When the sun was streaked with red grappling hooks were hurled over and large ladders of the orcs were raised up.

Éomer was with the men as they frantically tried to cut the ropes and keep the orcs from mounting the walls. Aragorn helped him to rally the men three times as they struggled to keep the walls from the enemy. Éomer struck down an orc and was assaulted by a large Uruk-hai of Isengard. Éomer struck him down and the iron on the creature's helmet broke a notch in Éomer's sword.

Yells arose from below as the wild men were rallied around their commander's and began another assault on the gate. Gamling leaned on his sword and sighed, "Do you hear their voices?"

"Yes but it has no meaning, it is like the shrieking of birds to me," Éomer answered.

"Many of them cry in the tongue of the Dunland. I know it well; it is an ancient tongue of men and was once spoken in many western valleys of the Mark. They hate us and are glad that our doom seems at hand. They cry out, "The king, the king! We will take their king. Death to Forgoil! Death to the Strawheads! Death to the robbers of the North!" They have not forgotten that Eorl was granted their land from Gondor," Gamling finished leaning on the wall and listening to the cries.

Éomer listened to the shouting men and his heart quavered. The hatred that they had for the Rohirrim would not be quenched until victory was at hand or the king was taken. Saruman had done wisely to choose them as allies. Éomer began to make his way down the stairs to check the stability of their men on the ground. He was knocked to the earth with a deafening explosion, he could feel his head bleeding as he rose. He touched it and winced, the wound from the prison had been reopened and it bled freely.

He rose and joined a handful of other soldiers as they found a large part of the wall blown away by some unknown devilry. Dust covered their faces as all the debris settled and the wild men and orcs entered the Deep. Aragorn leaped into the breach with a shout and many other soldiers flooded down to try to repel the attack. Éomer watched as a dark swarm overran the sparsely defended walls and the Deep was taken. He fought fiercely but was swept back by the tide of enemies and retreated up the stairs to the caves with many of his men. The whole scene was chaotic and disorderly. He was knocked on the side of the head and fell to the stairs unconscious. A figure stooped down and lifted his arms dragging him away.


	4. Brighter Day

Chapter 4.

"How many times shall I be in your debt master dwarf?" Éomer asked taking a swig of water from a flask.

"I shall count your debt repaid if you would wash and bind this scratch on my head," Gimli said, pointing to a bleeding wound on his forehead and setting his helmet on a rock beside them.

"Indeed, though I cannot say it would be enough to repay you. You must have dragged me several yards into the caves. The dwarves are indeed a sturdy and strong race," Éomer replied sending another soldier to retrieve a linen bandage.

"I only pulled you a few yards before your men took you further on, and the old stodgy one…"

"Gamling?"

"Yes, he took over and made sure you were made comfortable. An orc had come behind you and hit you with the butt of his sword and left you there," Gimli finished observing the rock around him appraisingly, the flames in the fire burned deeply in his dark eyes.

The caves glittered slightly as their small fire sent shadows on the crags and into the crevices. The sound of combat was heard as a muffled roar. Here and there, the soldiers who had been wounded or were taking a moment to rest sat and communicated quietly. The small mouth of the caves was easy to defend by a small number of men because of its design. Also, the orcs and wild men wanted to defeat the main force and sent only a small contingent to dislodge the men who had been swept into the caves.

It was fortunate that they had not sent more and concentrated their force on this place instead. Éomer and many other Rohirrim, knew that a smaller tunnel towards the back led in a winding way to the innermost Glittering Caves where the women and children were, and another passage to the innermost places of the Deep where the king and his guard were stationed.

The young soldier came back and handed Éomer the bandage. Éomer used a little of the water he had to clean out the grit from the cut. Gimli bit his lip as Éomer wiped it with a wet cloth. It was not a serious wound, but was still bleeding. Éomer wrapped the linen around it tightly and tied it in the back.

"I'm not sure if your helmet will fit quite as well now, but there is no need of soldiers at the mouth of the cave at this moment anyway."

Gimli gave him a playful scowl and laughed, "I only have a count of thirty-nine at the moment and must continue if I'm to beat Legolas."

Suddenly, a great sound interrupted their speech. A loud horn blared throughout the whole deep and the echoes gathered upon themselves sounding louder than they had originally. They could hear the senseless screaming of the Uruks and the more intelligent sounds of the wild men yelling. Then a great clatter and clash reverberated into the caves and both Gimli and Éomer rose and armed themselves. They joined a river of wounded soldiers rushing toward the entrance from where the sound seemed to be coming.

Éomer spoke in gasps as they ran, "Tis the horn of Helm hammerhand!" was all he said before they reached the opening, and found themselves fighting to keep wild orcs from overrunning the line.

The attack was violent and frenzied as the orcs and men kept screaming. It seemed almost as if they were seeking escape from the noise and they swung left and right without organization. A crazed wild man struck Éomer on the arm brutally and then dropped his sword and knelt at Éomer's feet.

"Not kill me, not kill me," he said in a breaking voice and Éomer was stupefied, he had never known this surrender from his enemy, the orc fought until he died, but this was a man like himself.

The fighting ceased abruptly, though they could still hear the faint sound of battle outside. Many men like the one at Éomer's feet surrendered their weapons. Gamling approached Éomer and looked at the cowering specimen before him.

Éomer turned to Gamling, "Gamling, you know the speech of the Dunlending, please tell this man that I am not going to kill him, tell them all to group over there and then assign one of the troops to watch over them until the king tells us what to do."

Gamling nodded and related the marshal's orders to the man; the man in turn rose and bowed humbly with disbelief in his eyes. The wild men had been taught that the Rohirrim burned their enemies alive and were cruel at heart; this could be proven by the look of fear still in their eyes as they gathered in a small circle.

Éomer and Gimli exited the caves and saw many who were dead lying in the fields. The host of the Rohirrim had almost doubled since Éomer had seen them last, and he saw moving among them, Erkenbrand, and Gandalf, and saw also the most extraordinary thing of all, a moving forest in the valley. The company turned to see them and the king called out to him.

"Welcome Éomer! Now that I see you safe, I am glad indeed."

"Hail, lord of the Mark, the dark night has passed and day has come, though it brings strange tidings." Éomer answered still staring at the dark trees, "Gandalf, you come once again unlooked for, and you bring strange wizardry," he said, passing a hand over his eyebrows to look more clearly at the forest. They were standing on the wide field before the Deep but now dangerous looking trees, which seemed to be shifting, fenced it in.

"The trees? Nay that is no deed of mine; it is a thing beyond the counsel of the wise. It is not wizardry but a power far older, _Ere iron was found or tree was hewn, When young was mountain under moon; Ere ring was made, or wrought was woe, It walked the forests long ago." _Gandalf quoted the rhyme with a glint in his eye, and it seemed to make little sense to anyone but him, "If you would the answer to the riddle then you must come with me to Isengard."

"To Isengard?" the king asked mystified. Should they defeat this enemy by a slim chance and then march on the impenetrable stronghold from whence the enemy had come?

"Yes," Gandalf replied, "I shall return to Isengard, and those who will may come with me. There we may see strange things," he finished glancing at each of them with a gleam in his eye.

"But there are not enough men in the Mark to assault the stronghold of Saruman," Théoden asked with a weary voice.

"Nevertheless, my way is to Isengard, look for me in Edoras, ere the waning of the moon."

"In the dark hour I doubted," Théoden said looking towards his nephew with a meaningful glance, "We will not part now, I will come with you if that is your counsel."

"I wish to speak to Saruman, and since he has done you great injury it would be fitting if you were there. How soon will you ride?"

"My men are weary, and I am weary also. My old age is not due only to the whisperings of Wormtongue. We will all rest now, and eat, since it is a parley we ride to and not war I will choose uninjured men to come with us and send the rest to gather the men of Rohan at Edoras," Théoden said.

So Éomer and the twenty men to go with the king along with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, returned to the inner chambers of the Hornburg and ate while their horses were prepared. The messengers to be sent across Rohan ate with them also and to his surprise Éomer found himself sitting next to Dengal. The young man smiled at him without any explanation and patted his back as he sat down to eat.

"Why are you not in the Folde tending to your beautiful, new wife?" Éomer asked as he filled his wooden plate.

"Erkenbrand and Gandalf gathered many soldiers from the Folde. Your uncle had to stay in Aldburg, but the rest of the fighting men came with them when we were told of your need. I would have felt guilty to hide behind the skirts of my wife, and I am glad to be on a horse and out of the city again!" he said chewing his poor portion with the cheerfulness of one eating a feast.

"And where do you ride now, will you serve as the messenger to the Folde?"

"Yes, I will tell the Lord of Aldburg of the need for men. The king wishes him among those that come to Edoras. Hild will not be pleased that we will leave again so soon after I return."

"That is why I, my dear friend will never marry until forced to. Marriage turns the most respectable bachelors into obedient lap dogs."

"But I was never a _respectable_ bachelor," Dengal said with a rakish smile, "I do remember a time when I was determined to seduce the niece of the king."

"Did you indeed?" Éomer answered with feigned incredulousness, "I cannot imagine such a thing," he said pushing a piece of meat into his mouth.

"Yes, I was quite a womanizer in my time. In fact her brother, the king's own nephew threatened me, it was then that I realized that the only women to be had were women without brothers."

"Very wise of you."

* * *

**Note: **If you haven't realized already I have taken down all the song lyrics that were previously in this story. The new rule upsets me, and I will still be having song lyrics for each chapter, so if you would like the chapter with the lyrics intact please email me and I will send them to you. 


	5. Isengard

Chapter 5.

When Éomer and the king's party came out of the Hornburg they saw a few large mounds had been raised over the bodies of the dead. One dead man lay alone under the shadow of the Hornburg. The king stood near the grave many minutes, for the loss of his general, Háma, had been a hard blow. The body had been found in pieces, torn apart even after he had died. The king came and joined the rest of the men as their horses were brought out and readied.

They mounted and began the journey to Isengard. As they rode down from the dike they saw that the men, women, and the children who had been in the caves had emerged and were singing a song of victory. The strong, sweet notes journeyed on the wind as they rode on. The singing stopped suddenly as the people saw that the forest had filled the valley. The king and his party were headed straight towards the mass of thick, green foliage.

When they approached, Gandalf did not halt, and the gnarled branches of the trees rose to form an archway through which he passed. As they went through the opening, all the men looked around in wonder. The road was still there. They moved with creaking and groaning so that the riders could take the road through the forest unhindered. Éomer could hear the king speak under his breath.

"Never in all my life have I seen such a thing. Today I feel like a child."

Legolas, riding nearby, overheard him and answered in a cautious whisper, "As do I. This wood is very old, and it is throbbing with hatred. What has happened to the miserable orcs, I wonder."

"That, I think, no one will ever know," Gandalf answered.

The rest of the party rode in silence and Éomer was among them. He did not speak, but watched warily, for he also could feel the throb that Legolas had described. The elf and dwarf spoke softly among themselves until they reached the end of the forest and the branching road, leading one way to Edoras and the other to the Fords of Isen. Suddenly, Legolas cried out and the whole party looked back to see what he saw.

Out of the forest the elf had seen pairs of eyes, and now three strange figures came out of the wood. They were as tall as trolls and like the shape of trees. Their raiment and hair were shades of green and brown, and moss grew on their skin. They had solemn eyes that were staring past the riders and northward. They opened their mouths and let a call like trumpets rumble in the air. Éomer watched as the call was answered and more of the same creatures came swiftly from the North, their footfalls shaking the ground. Most of the king's men put their hands on the bow and on the hilt, but Gandalf stopped them.

"You need no weapons. These are but herdsmen. They are not enemies, indeed they are not concerned with us at all," the wizard said.

The men saw he was right, because in a moment the tree-herders moved off into the woods and disappeared among the other trees. Éomer doubted at the moment that he would ever see such creatures ever again. These were undoubtedly the Ents, tree-herders that had become a legend of bed-time tales in Rohan. The company soon turned away from the woods and continued to the Fords.

Éomer did not know what to expect at the river. The memories of Théodred's death had been washing over him all day, and as they approached the bank, all the riders were surprised. There had been no noise of moving water or splashing liquid as they approached but they still had not expected the river to be completely dried up. Cracked mud and dirt filled the furrow which had once been full of running water. Only a little remained and stood in solitary, dirty pools.

"This is become a dreary place. What sickness has befallen the river? Many fair things Saruman has destroyed: has he devoured the springs of Isen too?" Éomer asked, looking around in astonishment.

"So it would seem," Gandalf said unconvincingly.

They rode up the river towards the eyot where Théodred had fallen. It stood in the middle, a bare hump of ground rising from the vast indentation which had once been a great river. On its crest was a circle of spears that encompassed a mound made of stone and dirt.

"Friends have labored here," the wizard said as they crossed the dry waste to gather by the rise, "Here lay all the Men of the Mark that fell near this place."

The wizard had not told all. The king questioned him and it was found that all had been directed by him. Elfwine and his men had helped him to raise the mound and gather the surviving men. Gandalf did not say all that had happened nor offered explanation for the strange state of the land. When they crossed the river the sun was sinking quickly and they made camp beside it. Éomer was weary of the place and longed to leave it behind but followed the king's orders nonetheless. The three travelers and especially Aragorn seemed cautious and remained silent and watchful through the night. There was little sleep for any of the men.

* * *

The statue before the entrance of Orthanc was a white hand. It was made of a single piece of stone and was faced palm outwards, commanding and powerful. As Gandalf passed it, blood seemed to spurt from the nails and run down the long, thick digits. It blackened quickly and caked on the pristine rock as they passed warily.

The whole place seemed to have been underwater only a short time ago and pools of dirty water had been left behind. Submerged waste lay on every side, rock and branch stuck out of the water at intervals along the way. Most spectacular and perhaps absurd of all were two figures surrounded by smoke, sitting on a large pile of rock. They were very small, and kept talking for a few moments before they noticed the group of horseman who had stopped before the pile.

One of the creatures stood up and bowed slowly. He was only as tall as a child but looked much older than that. His hair was a mass of brown curls and he wore a cloak of the same design and make as those of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. The other remained recumbent and seemed to be sleeping very soundly. The latter addressed the king and his nephew with a small, cheery voice.

"Welcome, my lords, to Isengard! We are the door wardens. Merriadoc son of Saradoc is my name; and my companion, who alas! Is overcome with weariness," he stopped to kick his friend, "Is Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the house of Took. Far in the North is our home. The Lord Saruman is within; but at the moment he is closeted with one Wormtongue, or doubtless he would be here to welcome such honorable guests."

Gimli, Aragorn, and Legolas seemed quite glad to see these old companions of theirs and Éomer could see that these must be the hobbits that they had spoken of. He tried not to laugh at the small creature's flowery words. The king was just as amazed as the riders to find that the legends of the Holbytlan were true and they now saw them in the flesh as they had the Ents. The hobbits conversed with them for some time before relaying that Treebeard, the ent in charge of Orthanc, was waiting for the party farther on.

The men were eager when they were told food was waiting there also. They went along carefully, watching for loose slabs and shifting rocks beneath the murky water. The horses walked slowly, but soon they came to Treebeard. Seeing the Ent so close was very different than watching the tree-herders they have seen before. He was tall, at least fourteen feet, and either clad, or made of, the same brown and green material of bark. His hands were knobby and long and rested at his sides as he watched them approach. His great, twiggy beard hung down across his torso and the light of the sun glinted on the green specks in his deep brown eyes.

The ent's voice was deep and booming as he addressed the riders, "Gandalf, you come at last. Wood and water, stone and branch I can manage, but here, there is a wizard to manage," he took a moment to examine the riders and with a strange sound like the howling wind called other Ents to him.

Food was brought from the storage cellars of Saruman, and the riders found a large jutting boulder to rest on while they ate. Théoden and Gandalf did not rest but continued to speak with Treebeard. Éomer wished very badly to know what they were saying and chewed on his portion distractedly, answering the banter of the soldiers with noncommittal grunts.

* * *

Brynfot stamped his front hoof warily and pushed his ears forward. Éomer patted his side but said nothing. The vast structure awed silence into the entire group. Though he had often heard stories of Orthanc, he had never imagined the building to be so enormous and unlike anything he had ever seen. Gimli, Legolas, Aragon and the strange hobbit creatures, called Merry and Pippin, had joined them an hour earlier and now, after close consultation between the King, Gandalf and Treebeard, they were approaching the massive structure.

The huge spike of architecture rose up from the ground, smooth and gleaming. A great flight of stairs rose from the murky water and led to a barred black door. Above the door was a window with a balcony and rails. No face appeared from either opening; the whole place remained still and silent as they approached.

When they came at last to the foot of the stairs, the King and Gandalf dismounted their horses. A soldier dismounted also, in order to hold the reins of their horses. Éomer began to dismount; he felt unwilling to be left behind while they climbed the strange stairs. Théoden glanced at him with a look of understanding.

"I will go up," said Gandalf, "I have been in Orthanc and I know my peril."

"And I too will go up," Théoden said motioning for Éomer as he spoke, "I am old and fear no peril any more. I wish to speak to the enemy who has done me so much wrong. Éomer shall come with me, and see that my aged feet do not falter," he said with a quick, sardonic grin towards his nephew.

"As you will," said Gandalf, "Aragorn shall come with me. Let the others await us at the foot of the stairs. They will hear and see enough, if there is anything to hear or see."

"Nay!" Gimli shouted jumping off the back of the horse, "Legolas and I wish for a closer view. We alone here represent our kindreds. We also will come behind."

"Come then!" Gandalf said with an exasperated sigh and began climbing the stairs. The riders below remained mounted, but Merry and Pippin slumped down upon the stair and watched dejectedly.

Éomer noticed with a small smile, that his uncle did not take his arm for support as they ascended up the stairs. No one talked and they reached the door very quickly. Gandalf took up his staff and beat on the huge, looming doors. The sound was deep and hollow.

"Saruman, Saruman! Saruman come forth!" Gandalf cried in a loud, commanding voice.

There was no answer for many minutes, until the window above the door scraped open. There was still no one to be seen as the voice spoke, "Who is it? What do you wish?" it said, and Éomer lurched forward in start at its familiarity.

"I know that voice," Théoden said, "and I curse the day I first listened to it."

"Go and fetch Saruman, since you have become his footman Grima Wormtongue! And do not waste our time!"

The window closed abruptly, and from the railing above them came a enchanting voice. They had not heard the wizard approach on the balcony, but suddenly he was there, speaking to them in a voice like none they had ever heard. All other voices at once seemed course and uncouth compared to this one. Éomer found himself caught unawares and succumbed for a moment before steeling himself, as much as he could, against the sound. In his mind he knew that he had heard such a voice before, one of lesser charm from the wizard's apprentice, Grima.

They all looked up in unison, and beheld Saruman.

* * *

**Note: **Yes that is as close as I get to a cliffie, yes it's a terrible excuse for one. Thank you to all my reviewers. I know my updates have been few and far in between but I hope during the summer to do better with it. As to the music regulations, yes it bugs me but I'm not taking my story off.

Mystikal- Thank you so much for your faithful reviews! It really helps to know people like the story enough to stick through my long periods of inactivity. I will be trying to update faster, but who knows if that will really happen. :)

Kalayna- Thanks for your review! I'm glad you like it!

Ithil-valon- Thank you so much for your review. I appreciate the comment and would have liked to see this on the big screen as well but I'm happy to settle for watching it unfold on my imagination. :)

Isilhén Daegol- Thanks so much for the reviews! It's amazing to think that it's been so long since I was first asking you how to get accents on letters! Thanks for keeping up despite school and stuff, it's a lot more than I can boast:) I looked back for the anand mistake and found it a bunch blushes I've tried to catch them, but I'll have to go back for a thorough look through. Thanks again for the reviews.

Eokat- Thanks for the reviews! I've tried to have some friendly banter in here that doesn't sound to silly, and I'm glad it's worked out ok. Thanks again!

Silverleaf- Haha! You've finally reviewed, should I be worried? Yes, I know I'm terrible with commas and I'm trying to do better. I hope you read this chapter sometime soon, maiden of doom…it rhymed.

Horsiegurl- I'm glad you like my story! I hope you read more.


	6. Forked Tongue

Chapter 6.

"Like and yet unlike," Gimli said under his breath, glancing back and forth between Gandalf and Saruman.

Éomer watched the figure at the railing. He was dressed in a cloak that seemed white but changed color as he moved. He had a high forehead and long face that swept down into a white beard that retained a few dark hairs around his lips and ears. His dark eyes were deep and watched the group with a grave and benevolent expression. As he spoke his whole body spoke of great weariness.

"Well? Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?" After it grew clear that there would be no answer from his audience he continued, "But come now, two at least of you I know by name. Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help or counsel here. But you, Théoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, are declared by your noble devices, and still more by the fair countenance of the House of Eorl. You have fought many battles and slain many men Théoden King, and made peace afterwards. Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend, can we not have peace you and I?"

There was a deep silence that lay upon all of them like a heavy blanket. The riders below were murmuring among themselves, pleased with the fine words that the wizard spoke to their king. Éomer fought the smothering sorcery that seemed to dull his thinking. Within him he began to feel a great fear for the war that would come. He was suddenly weary of battle and wished for peace. However, deep inside him he knew that no deal made with Saruman would end in tranquility.

It was Gimli the dwarf who broke in suddenly, "The words of this wizard stand on their heads. In the language of Orthanc help means ruin, and saving means slaying, that is plain," he finished with a fiery glance at Saruman and a firm grasp on his axe.

"Peace!" the wizard said his voice for a moment less suave, "I do not speak to you yet, Gimli Glóin's son. Far away is your home and small concern of yours are the troubles of this land." He turned his attention to the King once more, "What have you to say, Théoden King? Will you have peace with me, and all the aid that my knowledge, founded in long year, can bring? Shall we make our counsels together against evil days and repair our injuries with such good will that our estates shall both come to fairer flower than ever before?"

Éomer watched his uncle with growing concern and anxiety. The man shook slightly as he looked up at the wizard and met his glance, but he said no word, "Lord, hear me!" Éomer said suddenly, "Have we ridden forth to victory, only to stand at last amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue?" he glanced up at Saruman with a steely gaze, "All he desires is to escape from his plight. But will you parley with this dealer in treachery and murder? Remember Théodred at the Fords, and the grave of Háma in Helm's Deep!"

"If we speak of poisoned tongues what shall we say of yours, young serpent?" Saruman said with anger. The force of his words seemed like arrows piercing through Éomer's flesh and spirit, "But come Éomer Éomund's son! To every man his part. Valor in arms is yours, and you win high honor with it. Slay whom your lord names as enemies, and be content. Meddle not in policies you do not understand." Saruman turned again to the King leaving Éomer feeling as a child left behind by the adults. His heart felt raw from the wounds sustained from the wizard's words. He hung his head dejectedly.

"My lord of Rohan, am I to be called a murderer, because valiant men have fallen in battle? If you go to war needlessly, for I did not desire it, then men will be slain. I say, Théoden King shall we have peace and friendship, you and I? It is ours to command."

"We shall have peace," Théoden said thickly and with an effort. The riders at the foot of the stairs cried out gladly, "We shall have peace when you and all your works have perished. You are a liar Saruman, and a corrupter of men's hearts. You hold out your hand to me, and I perceive only a finger of the claw of Mordor," he said with a stronger voice, his eyes glittering with deep anger, "We shall have peace with you when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there. We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, we shall have peace," Théoden took a deep breath and shuddered slightly, "A lesser son of greater sires am I, but I do not need to lick your fingers. Now, I fear your voice has lost its charm."

And it had. The soldiers seemed to be awakened from a drunken stupor by the harsh voice of their master. Saruman remained quiet for a few moments, trembling with wrath. He leaned over the railing with malice in his eyes and for a moment he looked like a snake about to strike.

"Gibbets and crows!" he hissed between clenched teeth, "Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs? Too long have they escaped the gibbet themselves. But the noose comes, slow in the drawing, tight and hard in the end. Hang if you will!" Saruman straightened his back and clung to his staff with two hands, "For I need you not, nor your little band of gallopers, as swift to fly as to advance, Théoden Horsemaster. You give me brag and abuse. So be it. Go back to your huts!"

Éomer was afraid of the wizard's tone of voice. Now that the tables were turned he was acting like a cornered animal, wounded and about to strike. His next words came quickly, they were directed at Gandalf but not one of the people was left unaffected. His persuasiveness increased with the danger of his position.

"But you, Gandalf! For you at least I am grieved, feeling for your shame. How comes it that you can endure such company? For you are proud, Gandalf—and not without reason, having a noble mind and eyes that look both deep and far. Even now will you not listen to my counsel?"

Gandalf looked up, "What have you to say that you did not say at our last meeting? Or, perhaps, you have things to unsay?'

"Unsay? I endeavored to advise you for your own good, but you scarcely listened. You are proud and do not love advice, having indeed a store of your own wisdom. I fear in my eagerness to persuade you, I lost patience. And indeed I regret it. I bear you no ill will though you return to me in the company of the violent and the ignorant. For the common good I am willing to redress the past, and to receive you. Will you not consult with me? Will you not come up?"

For a moment, the rest of the party knew that Gandalf would leave them. They knew that he would go up the stairs and take counsel with Saruman. Then they would be dismissed like the lowly beings that they were, compared to these two great beings. The thought vanished a few seconds later with a laugh.

"Saruman, Saruman! Saruman, you missed your path in life. You should have been the king's jester and earned your bread, and stripes too, by mimicking his counselors. Understand one another? I fear I am beyond your comprehension. But you, Saruman, I understand now too well. When last I visited you, you were the jailor of Mordor, and there I was to be sent."

"Nay, the guest who has escaped from the roof, will think twice before he comes back in by the door. Nay, I do not think I will come up. But listen, Saruman, for the last time! Will you not come down?" he addressed Saruman's stunned face and smiled a bit. "Isengard has proved less strong than your hope and fancy made it. So may other things in which you still have trust. Would it not be well to leave it for a while? To turn to new things, perhaps? Think well, Saruman! Will you not come down?"

Saruman's face grew white and livid. His face showed the conflicting feelings of his mind. For a second he hesitated, almost ready to accept the help that Gandalf offered. Then pride stiffened his features and he spoke with a cold voice.

"Will I come down? Does an unarmed man come down to speak with robbers out of doors? I can hear you well enough here. I am no fool, and I do not trust you, Gandalf. They do not stand openly on my stairs, but I know where the wild wood-demons are lurking, at your command."

"The treacherous are ever distrustful. But you need not fear for your skin. I do not wish to kill you, or hurt you, as you would know, if you really understood me. And I have the power to protect you. I am giving you a last chance. You can leave Orthanc, free—if you choose."

"That sounds well. Very much in the manner of Gandalf the Grey: so condescending, and so very kind. I do not doubt that you would find Orthanc commodious, and my departure convenient. But why should I wish to leave? And what do you mean by "free"? There are conditions, I presume?"

"Reasons for leaving you can see from your windows. Others will occur to your thought. Your servants are destroyed and scattered; your neighbors you have made your enemies; and you have cheated your new master, or tried to do so. When his eye turns hither, it will be the red eye of wrath. But when I say "free", I mean "free": free from bond, of chain or command: to go where you will, even, even to Mordor, Saruman, if you desire. But you will first surrender to me the Key of Orthanc, and your staff. They shall be pledges of your conduct, to be returned later, if you merit them."

"Later! Yes, when you also have the Keys of Barad-Dûr itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those that you wear now. A modest plan. Hardly one in which my help is needed! I have other things to do. Do not be a fool. If you wish to treat with me, while you have a chance, go away, and come back when you are sober! Good day!" He shouted and turned to leave the balcony.

"Come back, Saruman!" Gandalf said. Saruman turned around and clutched at the rail.

"I did not give you leave to go. I have not finished. You still might have turned away from folly and evil, and have been of service. But you choose to stay and gnaw the ends of your old plots. Stay then! Saruman! Behold I am not Gandalf the Grey, whom you betrayed. I am Gandalf the White, who has returned from death. You have no color now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council."

Gandalf raised his hand towards Saruman, "Saruman, your staff is broken." The great black staff broke in half and shattered. The head fell off and rolled down to Gandalf's feet, "Go!" Gandalf finished and Saruman fell back and crawled away.

At that moment a flash fell down onto the railing and broke it in to. It was a large shining ball that sparked on the stairs as it rolled down to the bottom and into a pool. "The murderous rogue," Éomer said with almost a laugh.

"No, that was not thrown by Saruman, nor even at his bidding, I think. It came from a window far above. A parting shot from Master Wormtongue, I fancy, but ill aimed," Gandalf said looking up to the windows above the balcony.

"The aim was poor, maybe, because he could not make up his mind who he hated more, you or Saruman," said Aragorn.

"That may be so," said Gandalf, "Small comfort will those two have in their companionship: they will gnaw one another with words. But the punishment is just. If Wormtongue ever comes out of Orthanc alive, it will be more than he deserves."

Éomer agreed wholeheartedly with the last statement. But how he wished to go up into Isengard and get rid of the worm all together. Éomer looked up at the towering structure for a moment before they descended the stairs.

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**Note: **Hey everyone, thanks in advance for the reviews! I know this chapter was long and pretty much dialogue. I just wanted to have a little note here. This chapter was especially hard because I had the dialogue from the book and the dialogue from the movie to work with. I believe you will see that I mixed the two together, but kept more of the dialogue from the book. Almost nothing in this chapter is my own, almost everything is the wonderful work of Tolkien. I hope for more chances in the future to use my own imagination but I want to stay true to his genius in this story. So this will serve as a refresher course in his books until later. Next chapter should have a lot of original stuff. 


	7. Night Ride

Chapter 7.

His hands were covered with blood. "I cannot stay," his mother's eyes staring into his as the words echoed over and over again. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" and then silence, darkness. The smell of sweat and blood and death; his father's eyes staring into his, and then closing, his cracked lips moving, "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" then silence, darkness. The blood was still there on his hands and the smell was overwhelming.

Théodred's dead body lay before him, white and rotting. His cousin's eyes suddenly opened, the colorless orbs staring at him unwaveringly, "I cannot stay," the corpse said as it rose, the voice was hollow and dead. The corpse reached out to touch him, spreading crimson blood on his body. It faded into the darkness as Éomer struggled to evade the touch.

Éowyn's hand was upon his shoulder. She took his hands but withdrew horrified looking at the blood that stained them. Her eyes met his, an icy, blue stare. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" she walked away, her white dress fluttering, a stark contrast to the darkness.

Suddenly, he stood on the terrace of Meduseld surrounded by the people of Rohan. They were all covered in wounds, lying on the ground already dead or dying. They grasped at his legs as he passed, "We cannot stay," they whispered. The sound was lost in a loud wind that swept through the city. A voice repeated words in his head.

_Slay whom your lord names as enemies, and be content. Meddle not in policies you do not understand._

His country turned brown before his eyes as the people died one by one. He felt a sudden weight on his head and reached up to feel a crown.

_Meddle not in policies you do not understand…_

The crown was covered in blood.

Éomer woke suddenly to the biting temperatures of late night and a shrill cry that pierced the air around the camp. Many around him began to sit up, and the guards around the edges of the encampment leapt up. The king, who was only a few yards away from Éomer, opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet. He looked around, waiting for an explanation from one of his guards.

There seemed to be a congregation by the area where the wizard and his companions had laid to rest the night before. Éomer stretched his arms above his head and strapped his sword around his waist before stepping over the prone bodies of some sleeping soldiers to find out what had happened.

The crisp grass of early spring bent beneath his feet as he reached the kneeling figure of Gandalf. He was in earnest conversation with one of the Hobbit creatures. The hobbit was lying down with his companion sitting by his side. Both had lost any look of mirth and were listening to the wizard with serious expressions.

It was an eerie sight by the fading moonlight. The sun had not yet made an appearance and an air of foreboding surrounded the entire episode. The king joined his men as Gandalf stood up and ushered them away from the hobbits. The stone that Wormtongue had thrown down at the wizard lay by Aragorn's feet covered by a blanket.

"Peril comes in the night when least expected. We have had a narrow escape!" the wizard responded to the questioning glances.

A soldier near Éomer related the situation to the marshal as the wizard continued speaking. The hobbit, Pippin, had taken the dark orb and looked into it. It was a powerful weapon used for communicating with Sauron. The hobbit had seen Sauron, had spoken with Sauron.

"We must move. The neighborhood of Isengard is no place now to linger in. I will ride ahead at once with Peregrin Took. It will be better for him than lying in the dark while others sleep," the wizard finished speaking.

"I will keep Éomer and ten Riders. They shall ride with me at early day. The rest may go with Aragorn and ride as soon as they have a mind," the king said looking to his nephew with a nod.

"As you will," said Gandalf, "But make all the speed you may to the cover of the hills, to Helm's Deep!"

Abruptly, a shadow fell over the whole group. The light from the moon was cut off and many of the riders crouched in fear. Éomer remained standing as a cold fear gripped his heart and paralyzed him from acting in defense. His legs locked and he stared up in silent terror. In a moment it was gone. He realized he had not been breathing as cold air was allowed into his thirsty lungs.

"Nazgûl!" Gandalf yelled as the black figure flew away, "The messenger of Mordor. The storm is coming. The Nazgûl have crossed the River!" his voice urged the men to movement and preparation, "Ride, ride! Wait not for the dawn! Let not the swift wait for the slow! Ride!" with that he sprang away to his horse.

Aragorn followed close behind. Éomer watched as Gandalf mounted and then Aragorn helped the hobbit called Pippin up into the wizard's waiting arms. With a toss of the great mane and a flick of the flowing tail the horse was gone.

Éomer did not listen as the other hobbit talked with Aragorn. He watched the horse become a distant speck and then turned to listen to the king. The men were already saddling the horses. The fear of the winged creature had spurred them into quick action. There were only twenty-four horses now and the company was silent as they rode hastily. The sun was rising when a scout stopped the king to bring strange news.

"My lord," he said to the king, "There are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I thought that I heard them. Now we are sure. They are overtaking us, riding hard."

The king called out for the riders to halt immediately. They could not run from an unseen enemy, exposing their backs to treacherous weapons. Éomer pulled out his sword from its sheath as other soldiers around him unstrapped their spears. He pulled his horse around to the rear near the men under his command. Aragorn dismounted quickly and helped the hobbit off the horse. The heir of Gondor stood poised and ready by the king's horse, sword withdrawn in preparation for battle.

It was eerie work, waiting in the dim light of the sinking moon with only the sound of horses and the beating of each heart. Soon they heard the sound of approaching horses. The waning moonlight glinted off spearheads showing that the group was the same size or larger than their own. Éomer saw the king raise his hand slightly towards him and took a deep breath before addressing the mysterious riders.

"Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?" his voice sounded strange in his own ears, so unwavering and undaunted.

Suddenly the group before them stopped, reigning in their horses in silence. In the moonlight Éomer could see one man dismounting from his steed and walking towards them, palm outwards in a show of peace. There was no relaxation of grip on their weapons as the Rohirrim waited for the stranger to speak.

"Rohan? Rohan did you say? That is a glad word. We seek that land in haste from long afar." His voice rang with an accent similar to that of Aragorn's own.

"You have found it," said Éomer. "When you crossed the fords yonder you entered it. But it is the realm of Théoden the King. None ride here save by his leave. Who are you? And what is your haste?"

"Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North I am. We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan."

Before Éomer could answer the claim Aragorn had handed his reins to the hobbit and was striding forward. "And you have found him also! Halbarad!" he said embracing his fellow ranger, "Of all joys this is the least expected."

There was a silent sigh of relief as the Rohirrim lowered their weapons. Éomer sheathed his sword and rode forward to listen to the forthcoming explanation. He had never seen Aragorn look so joyful, nor his constant grim demeanor change for an expression of happiness.

"All is well. Here are some of my own kin from the far land where I dwelt. But why they come, and how many they be, Halbarad shall tell us," Aragorn said turning back to his friend with expectation.

"I have thirty with me," said Halbarad, "That is all of our kindred that could be gathered in haste; but the brethren Elladan and Elrohir have ridden with us, desiring to go to the war. We rode as swiftly as we might when your summons came."

Aragorn looked confused, "But I did not summon you, save only in wish. My thoughts have often turned to you, and seldom more than tonight; yet I have sent no word. But come! All such matters must wait. You find us riding in haste and danger. Ride with us now, if the king will give his leave."

Éomer turned to see his uncle's reaction. The king looked glad to accept such an offer. "It is well!" he said. "If these kinsmen be in any way like to yourself, my lord Aragorn, thirty such knights will be a strength that cannot be counted by heads."

They continued on until the sky grew gray with the forthcoming sun. They reached the Hornburg soon after and all were ready to take rest before any council was taken. Éomer dismounted his horse wearily and watched the rangers and Aragorn draw unto themselves. They had spoken few words to each other, but now by the faint light Éomer could examine them more closely.

They looked very much like the kin of Aragorn. All faces were weather-worn and had expressions of wisdom that only came with age and experience. Even the hardiest warriors of the Rohirrim looked like young boys compared to the dark-haired warriors. Two of them he recognized immediately as elves, though they looked little like Legolas. They were obviously twins and both had long dark hair very much the opposite of the other elf's. They two wore grim expressions equated with age and the experience of many battles.

Éomer had no more time to watch for his own eyes were growing heavy with sleep and the men of Rohan were withdrawing to the empty rooms of the Hornburg to sleep for awhile. Furs and the rough blankets of soldiers were laid out on the cold stone floor and despite the discomfort of the quarters almost all were asleep within moments of laying down their heads.

The young Marshal of the Mark however, lay tossing fitfully. He was used to the hard ground and sleeping in close quarters with his men, but tonight was different. There were too many thoughts running rampant in his mind, too many worries that plagued his heart. The relief he had felt at Grima's departure and his uncle's reawakening had been short lived. Now the present truths of the oncoming war and destruction that awaited the whole of Middle-earth overwhelmed his courage.

As much as he hated to admit it, the wizard's words had affected his courage. Saruman knew well that a king without brave soldiers was nothing and had used his poisonous tongue to that fashion. Was there any hope to emerge victorious from a confrontation with Sauron himself? Would the valiant people of Rohan be destroyed and forgotten by a conquered world? And beneath all these uncertainties was a question that Éomer was afraid to give voice to…even in his own mind.

The thought came unbidden anyway…what would happen when his uncle died and he was left to defend his country and his people by himself? What would he do with a crown?

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**Note: **Yes I'm posting again, but don't get too excited. I have no idea how often this story will be updated, but since I had half of this chapter waiting around on my computer I became determined to finish it. So here you are, I hope you enjoy it, if anyone is out there still reading still!

As said before, most of the dialogue in this part of WHUG is from Tolkien's books. I'm trying my best to maintain a balance but it is becoming difficult. So I claim no part of Tolkien's genius…see chapter one for disclaimer.

Ringwraith- Thanks so much for your support, it's a constant help to me to know I have friends out there reading my stuff!

Eokat- Thank you so much for your reviews. I don't have any idea whether you're still interested in this story, but your support has meant a lot to me!

NinielB- Thank you for the review. I hope you enjoy the story as you continue to read. If you haven't already, check out the first part of WHUG…it's about Éomer's life before the war of the ring and events of the book.


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